"Oh Allah!"
"What happened, Joyce?" Niyar rushed into the kitchen after hearing me scream.
I pointed toward the oven, from which clouds of smoke were rising. For the third time in a row, I had failed at cooking. Yes, unfortunately, cooking was never one of my talents.
Niyar sighed in annoyance, then pulled me by the hood of my sweatshirt to the couch and handed me the TV remote. He then threatened:
"Don't you dare step into the kitchen again. Are you trying to burn us in the house or what?"
Does he seriously believe that's what I want? How annoying. The only reason I even went into the kitchen was the hunger gnawing at my stomach.
He gave me a light smack on the back of my head and walked to the kitchen, pushing his hair back using my headband—one I don't even know when he took from me.
No sooner had he stepped in than his voice thundered through the entire house:
"Joyce! Did you use up all our cooking ingredients? What we had was enough for lunch for two days—don't tell me you used it all!"
I opened my mouth to explain, but he didn't wait for me and shouted again:
"Right now—go change your clothes, we're going to the market!"
I went up the stairs to my room, giving in to his order out of fear of one of his angry fits. I know how bad his temper can get. And since it was his turn to clean today, there's no way he'd forgive me.
Moments later, I was standing right in front of him again.
That day, we walked for half an hour to a market that was supposedly only fifteen minutes away—
and we didn't even arrive!
"Niyar, are you sure we're going the right way? It feels like we've been walking in endless circles."
He paused briefly before finally replying,
"Maybe we are."
I stared at him, clearly annoyed.
"Maybe? Maybe, Niyar?"
"I haven't come here in ten years, so I'm definitely confused."
"You could've said that earlier—we've wasted all this time for nothing. We should've just stayed home."
"I'll ask the people around. Maybe someone can show us the way."
Finally, we found the path. We returned hours later from the market, and cooking began without delay.
I started preparing the table, and the other three arrived just then—lunch had turned into dinner.
And what a rare dinner it was! Niyar doesn't cook every day.
My aunt stood up and headed to the kitchen, her angry yelling unstoppable.
She dragged us both to the kitchen, and we cleaned it and returned it to its original state. The entire time, Niyar didn't stop grumbling.
After we finished, we sat down to drink tea.
My uncle opened the conversation in a firm tone that allowed no objection:
"Joyce and Niyar, get ready to move to the academic dorms. You'll be studying there."
Niyar protested in frustration,
"Why the academy, Dad? Can't we just finish our studies in any regular school?"
"It was only a matter of time anyway. You were going to start next year. Advancing it by a year won't hurt. The procedures are all done—this is final. Get ready."
The annoyance on Niyar's face was clear. He never liked the idea of dorm life, especially having to live with strangers—something he couldn't stand.
As for me, I didn't mind it. A little change every now and then doesn't hurt. In fact, I was excited—Rina had told me a lot about academy life and its adventures.
But what made my heart leap with joy was what my uncle added afterward:
"You might come across Iyass among the students. The last we heard of him, he was in the capital years ago."
My eyes sparkled with hope. A small flame of joy lit up inside me.
Just the thought of meeting him again warmed my heart.
Maybe… just maybe, Allah will replace the pain of losing someone dear with the comfort of finding someone else precious.